Miss Horn had the just repute of discretion, for, gladly hearing all the news, she had the rare virtue of not repeating things to the prejudice of others without some good reason for so doing; Malcolm therefore, seated thus alone with her in the dead of the night, and bound to her by the bond of a common well doing, had no hesitation in unfolding to her all his adventures of the evening. She sat with her big hands in her lap, making no remark, not even an exclamation, while he went on with the tale of the garret; but her listening eyes grew--not larger--darker and fiercer as he spoke; the s.p.a.ce between her nostrils and mouth widened visibly; the muscles knotted on the sides of her neck; and her nose curved more and more to the shape of a beak.

"There's some deevilry there!" she said at length after he had finished, breaking a silence of some moments, during which she had been staring into the fire. "Whaur twa ill women come thegither, there maun be the auld man himsel' atween them."

"I dinna doobt it," returned Malcolm. "An' ane o' them 's an ill wuman, sure eneuch; but I ken naething aboot the t.i.ther--only 'at she maun be a leddy, by the w'y the howdy wife spak till her."

"The waur token, when a leddy collogues wi' a wuman aneth her ain station, an' ane 'at has keppit (caught in pa.s.sing) mony a secret in her day, an' by her callin' has had mair opportunity--no to say farther--than ither fowk o' duin' ill things! An' gien ye dinna ken her, that's no rizzon 'at I sudna hae a groff guiss at her by the marks ye read aff o' her. I'll jist hae to tell ye a story sic as an auld wife like me seldom tells till a young man like yersel'."

"Yer ain bridle sail rule my tongue, mem," said Malcolm.

"I s' lippen to yer discretion," said Miss Horn, and straightway began.--"Some years ago--an' I s' warran' it's weel ower twinty --that same wuman, Bawby Cat'nach,--wha was nae hame born wuman, nor had been lang aboot the toon--comin' as she did frae naebody kent whaur, 'cep maybe it was the markis 'at than was, preshumed to mak up to me i' the w'y o' frien'ly acquantance--sic as a maiden leddy micht hae wi' a howdy--an' no 'at she forgot her proaper behaviour to ane like mysel'. But I cudna hae bidden (endured) the jaud, 'cep 'at I had rizzons for lattin' her jaw wag. She was cunnin', the auld vratch,--no that auld--maybe aboot forty,-- but I was ower mony for her. She had the design to win at something she thoucht I kent, an' sae, to enteece me to open my pock, she opent hers, an' tellt me story efter story about this neebour an'

that--a' o' them things 'at ouchtna to ha' been true, an 'at she ouchtna to ha' loot pa.s.s her lips gien they war true, seein' she cam by the knowledge o' them so as she said she did. But she gat naething o' me--the fat braint cat!--an' she hates me like the verra mischeef."

Miss Horn paused and took a sip of her negus.

"Ae day, I cam upon her sittin' by the ingleneuk i' my ain kitchen, haudin' a close an' a laich confab wi' Jean. I had Jean than, an'

hoo I hae keepit the hizzy, I hardly ken. I think it maun be that, haein' nae feelin's o' my ain, I hae ower muckle regaird to ither fowk's, an' sae I never likit to pit her awa' wi'oot doonricht provocation. But dinna ye lippen to Jean, Malcolm--na, na! At that time, my cousin, Miss Grizel Cammell--my third cousin, she was--had come to bide wi' me--a bonny yoong thing as ye wad see, but in sair ill health; an' maybe she had het freits (whims), an' maybe no, but she cudna bide to see the wuman Cat'nach aboot the place. An' in verra trowth, she was to mysel' like ane o' thae ill faured birds, I dinna min' upo' the name them, 'at hings ower an airmy; for wharever there was onybody nae weel, or onybody deid, there was Bawby Cat'nach. I hae hard o' creepin' things 'at veesits fowk 'at 's no weel--an' Bawby was, an' is, ane sic like!

Sae I was angert at seein' her colloguin' wi' Jean, an' I cried Jean to me to the door o' the kitchie. But wi' that up jumps Bawby, an' comin' efter her, says to me--says she, 'Eh, Miss Horn!

there's terrible news: Leddy Lossie's deid;--she 's been three ooks deid!'--'Weel,' says I, 'what's sae terrible aboot that?'

For ye ken I never had ony feelin's, an' I cud see naething sae awfu' aboot a body deem' i' the ord'nar' w'y o natur like. 'We'll no miss her muckle doon here,' says I, 'for I never hard o' her bein' at the Hoose sin' ever I can.' 'But that's no a',' says she; 'only I wad be laith to speyk aboot it i' the transe (pa.s.sage).

Lat me up the stair wi' ye, an' I'll tell ye mair.' Weel, pairtly 'at I was ta'en by surprise like, an' pairtly 'at I wasna sae auld as I am noo, an' pairtly that I was keerious to hear--ill 'at I likit her--what neist the wuman wad say, I did as I ouchtna, an' turned an' gaed up the stair, an' loot her follow me. Whan she cam' in, she pat tu the door ahint her, an' turnt to me, an' said --says she: 'An wha 's deid forbye, think ye?'--'I hae hard o'

naebody,' I answered. 'Wha but the laird o' Gersefell!' says she.

'I'm sorry to hear that, honest ma!' says I; for a'body likit Mr Stewart. 'An' what think ye o' 't?' says she, wi' a runklin o' her broos, an' a shak o' her heid, an' a settin o' her roon' nieves upo'

the fat hips o' her. 'Think o' 't?' says I ; 'what sud I think o'

't, but that it's the wull o' Providence?' Wi' that she leuch till she wabblet a' ower like cauld skink, an' says she--'Weel, that's jist what it is no, an' that lat me tell ye, Miss Horn!' I glowert at her, maist fricht.i.t into believin' she was the witch fowk ca'd her. 'Wha's son 's the hump backit cratur',' says she, ''at comes in i' the gig whiles wi' the groom lad, think ye?'--'Wha's but the puir man's 'at 's deid?' says I. 'Deil a bit o' 't!' says she, 'an' I beg yer pardon for mentionin' o' him,' says she. An' syne she screwt up her mou', an' cam closs up till me--for I wadna sit doon mysel', an' less wad I bid her, an' was sorry eneuch by this time 'at I had broucht her up the stair--an' says she, layin' her han' upo' my airm wi' a clap, as gien her an' me was to be freen's upo' sic a gran' foondation o' dirt as that!--says she, makin' a laich toot moot o' 't,--'He's Lord Lossie's!' says she, an' maks a face 'at micht hae turnt a cat sick--only by guid luck I had nae feelin's. 'An' nae suner's my leddy deid nor her man follows her!' says she. 'An' what do ye mak o' that?' says she. 'Ay, what do ye mak o' that?' says I till her again. 'Ow! what ken I?' says she, wi' anither ill leuk; an' wi' that she leuch an' turned awa, but turned back again or she wan to the door, an' says she--'Maybe ye didna ken 'at she was broucht to bed hersel' aboot a sax ooks ago?'--'Puir leddy!' said I, thinkin' mair o' her evil report nor o' the pains o' childbirth. 'Ay,' says she, wi' a deevilich kin' o' a lauch, like in spite o' hersel', 'for the bairn's deid, they tell me--as bonny a ladbairn as ye wad see, jist ooncoamon!

An' whaur div ye think she had her doon lying? Jist at Lossie Hoose!'

Wi' that she was oot at the door wi' a swag o' her tail, an' doon the stair to Jean again. I was jist at ane mair wi' anger at mysel'

an' scunner at her, an' in twa min' s to gang efter her an' turn her oot o' the hoose, her an' Jean thegither. I could hear her snicherin' till hersel' as she gaed doon the stair. My verra stamack turned at the poozhonous ted.

"I canna say what was true or what was fause i' the scandal o' her tale, nor what for she tuik the trouble to cairry 't to me, but it sune cam to be said 'at the yoong laird was but half wittet as weel's humpit, an' 'at his mither cudna bide him. An' certain it was 'at the puir wee chap cud as little bide his mither. Gien she cam near him ohn luikit for, they said, he wad gie a great skriech, and rin as fast as his wee weyver (spider) legs cud wag aneth the wecht o' 's humpie--an' whiles her after him wi' onything she cud lay her han' upo', they said--but I kenna. Ony gait, the widow hersel' grew waur and waur i' the temper, an' I mis...o...b.. me sair was gey hard upo' the puir wee objeck--fell cruel til 'm, they said--till at len'th, as a' body kens, he forhooit (forsook) the hoose a'thegither. An' puttin' this an' that thegither, for I hear a hantle said 'at I say na ower again, it seems to me 'at her first scunner at her puir misformt bairn, wha they say was humpit whan he was born an' maist cost her her life to get lowst o' him-- her scunner at 'im 's been growin' an' growin' till it's grown to doonricht hate."

"It's an awfu' thing 'at ye say, mem, an' I doobt it's ower true.

But hoo can a mither hate her ain bairn?" said Malcolm.

"'Deed it's nae wonner ye sud speir, laddie! for it's weel kent 'at maist mithers, gien there be a shargar or a nat'ral or a crookit ane amo' their bairns, mak mair o' that ane nor o' a' the lave putten thegither--as gien they wad mak it up till 'im, for the fair play o' the warl. But ye see in this case, he's aiblins (perhaps) the child o' sin--for a leear may tell an ill trowth--an' beirs the marks o' 't, ye see; sae to her he's jist her sin rinnin' aboot the warl incarnat; an' that canna be pleesant to luik upo'."

"But excep' she war ashamed o' 't, she wadna tak it sae muckle to hert to be remin't o' 't."

"Mony ane's ashamed o' the consequences 'at's no ashamed o' the deed. Mony ane cud du the sin ower again, 'at canna bide the sicht or even the word o' 't. I hae seen a body 't wad steal a thing as sune's luik at it gang daft wi' rage at bein' ca'd a thief. An'

maybe she wadna care gien 't warna for the oogliness o' 'im. Sae be he was a bonny sin, I'm thinkin' she wad hide him weel eneuch.

But seein' he 's naither i' the image o' her 'at bore 'im nor him 'at got 'im, but beirs on 's back, for ever in her sicht, the sin 'at was the gettin' o' 'in, he's a' hump to her, an' her hert's aye howkin a grave for 'im to lay 'im oot o' sicht intill she bore 'im, an' she wad beery 'im. An' I'm thinkin' she beirs the markis --gien sae it be sae--deid an' gane as he is--a grutch yet, for pa.s.sin' sic an offspring upo' her, an' syne no merryin' her efter an' a', an' the ro'd clear o' baith 'at stude atween them.

It was said 'at the man 'at killt 'im in a twasum fecht (duel), sae mony a year efter, was a freen' o' hers."

"But wad fowk du sic awfu' ill things, mem--her a merried woman, an' him a merried man?"

"There's nae sayin', laddie, what a hantle o' men and some women wad du. I hae muckle to be thankfu' for 'at I was sic as no man ever luikit twice at. I wasna weel faured eneuch; though I had bonny hair, an' my mither aye said 'at her Maggy hed guid sense; whatever else she micht or micht not hae. But gien I cud hae gotten a guid man, siclike's is scarce, I cud hae lo'ed him weel eneuch.

But that's naither here nor there, an' has naething to du wi'

onybody ava. The pint I had to come till was this: the wuman ye saw haudin' a toot moot (tout muet?) wi' that Cat'nach wife, was nane ither, I do believe, than Mistress Stewart, the puir laird's mither.

An' I hae as little doobt that whan ye tuik 's pairt, ye broucht to noucht a plot o' the twasum (two together) against him. It bodes guid to naebody whan there's a conjunc o' twa sic wanderin' stars o' blackness as you twa."

"His ain mither!" exclaimed Malcolm, brooding in horror over the frightful conjecture.

The door opened, and the mad laird came in. His eyes were staring wide, but their look and that of his troubled visage showed that he was awake only in some frightful dream. "Father o' lichts!" he murmured once and again, but making wild gestures, as if warding off blows. Miss Horn took him gently by the hand. The moment he felt her touch, his face grew calm, and he submitted at once to be led back to bed.

"Ye may tak yer aith upo' 't, Ma'colm," she said when she returned, "she means naething but ill by that puir cratur; but you and me-- we'll ding (defeat) her yet, gien't be his wull. She wants a grip o' 'm for some ill rizzon or ither--to lock him up in a madhoose, maybe, as the villains said, or 'deed, maybe, to mak awa' wi' him a'thegither."

"But what guid wad that du her?" said Malcolm.

"It's ill to say, but she wad hae him oot o' her sicht, ony gait."

"She can hae but little sicht o' him as 'tis," objected Malcolm.

"Ay! but she aye kens he's whaur she doesna ken, puttin' her to shame, a' aboot the country, wi' that hump o' his. Oot o' fowk's sicht wad be to her oot a' thegither."

A brief silence followed.

"Noo," said Malcolm, "we come to the question what the twa limmers could want wi' that door."

"Dear kens! It bude to be something wrang--that's a' 'at mortal can say; but ye may be sure o' that--I hae hard tell," she went on reflectingly--"o' some room or ither i' the hoose 'at there's a fearsome story aboot, an' 'at 's never opent on no acc.o.o.nt. I hae hard a' aboot it, but I canna min' upo' 't noo, for I paid little attention till 't at the time, an' it's mony a year sin' syne. But it wad be some deevilich ploy o' their ain they wad be efter: it's little the likes o' them wad heed sic auld warld tales."

"Wad ye hae me tell the markis?" asked Malcolm.

"Na, I wad no; an' yet ye maun du 't. Ye hae no business to ken o'

onything wrang in a body's hoose, an' no tell them--forbye 'at he pat ye in chairge. But it 'll du naething for the laird; for what cares the markis for onything or onybody but himsel'?"

"He cares for 's dauchter," said Malcolm.

"Ow ay!--as sic fowk ca' carin'. There's no a bla'guard i' the haill queentry he wadna sell her till, sae be he was o' an auld eneuch faimily, and had rowth o' siller. Haith! noo a days the last 'ill come first, an' a fish cadger wi' siller 'ill be c.o.o.nt.i.t a better bargain nor a lord wantin 't: only he maun hae a heap o'

't, to cower the stink o' the fish."

"Dinna scorn the fish, mem," said Malcolm: "they're innocent craturs, an' dinna smell waur nor they can help; an' that's mair nor ye can say for ilka lord ye come athort."

"Ay, or cadger aither," rejoined Miss Horn. "They're aft eneuch jist sic like, the main differ lyin' in what they're defiled wi'; an' 'deed whiles there's no differ there, or maist ony gait, maybe, but i' the set o' the shoothers, an' the wag o' the tongue."

"An' what 'll we du wi' the laird?" said Malcolm.

"We maun first see what we can du wi' him. I wad try to keep him mysel', that is, gien he wad bide--but there's that jaud Jean!

She's aye gabbin', an' claikin', an' cognostin' wi' the enemy, an' I canna lippen till her. I think it wad be better ye sud tak chairge o' 'm yersel', Malcolm. I wad willin'ly beir ony expense --for ye wadna be able to luik efter him an' du sae weel at the fishin', ye ken."

"Gien 't had been my ain line fishin', I could aye ha' taen him i'

the boat wi' me; but I dinna ken for the herrin'. Blue Peter wadna objeck, but it's some much work, an' for a waikly body like the laird to be oot a' nicht some nichts, sic weather as we hae to enc.o.o.nter whiles, micht be the deid o' 'm."

They came to no conclusion beyond this, that each would think it over, and Malcolm would call in the morning. Ere then, however, the laird had dismissed the question for them. When Miss Horn rose, after an all but sleepless night, she found that he had taken the affairs again into his own feeble hands, and vanished.

CHAPTER XXVI: NOT AT CHURCH

It being well known that Joseph Mair's cottage was one of the laird's resorts, Malcolm, as soon as he learned his flight, set out to inquire whether they knew anything of him there.